


O Little Town of Bethlehem

by aljohnson



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, fake married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5531720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x08 I wrote 'An Unexpected Rendezvous', and some readers were kind enough to ask for more details of Phryne and Jack's journey back from Paris to Melbourne. </p><p>Here's a little snippet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Little Town of Bethlehem

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Unexpected Rendezvous](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616121) by [aljohnson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson). 



> In 1929, Bethlehem was part of what was referred to as 'Mandatory Palestine', and was being administered by the British. This was a hang over from the end of World War 1, and it was only in 1927 that agreement had been reached as to what was going to happen in the region - essentially the 'winning' countries from WW1 carved up the whole of the Middle East between them. There had been riots in August 1929, with deaths amongst Muslims and Jews - fighting over who had the greater claim to the town and the region as a whole. This whole mess is, unfortunately, still not resolved in 2015. And yet somehow thousands of tourists still flock to Bethlehem every year, to see the place where a small child was born, some 2000 years ago.

Phryne and Jack smirked at each other, before pressing their lips together in a deep kiss.

“You don’t mind the charade?” Jack asked, running his hand from Phryne’s hip, up until his palm rested around her waist.

“I’d mind a lot more being separated from you.”

“We’d have still been in the same building.”

“Not the same, Jack. Aren’t you having fun pretending?” Phryne pouted, in a way that Jack found distractingly sexy.

“Probably a little too much. I am surprised that no-one’s asked to see the certificate, given that your passport…”

“Oh Jack! No-one is going to be so bold as to publicly question a truth declared by the daughter of a peer of the realm. And I don’t give a fig what anyone might be saying in private…”

“I know you don’t Phryne, but I don’t want anyone thinking that there’s anything, well, improper. That I’m taking any sort of, advantage…”

Phryne snorted. “Jack Robinson! There is a lot improper between us. As well you know. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She reached up and kissed him once more, running her hands down his lean body. “I acknowledge that it’s just easier this way. At least until we get back home. After all, no-one is going to question a recently married couple, taking an extended honeymoon, spending an awfully large amount of time in their private rooms.”

“And when we get home? Which we have to talk about. At some point.”

“But not tonight Jack. It’s Christmas, and I don’t want to talk about anything serious.”

“Shall we go to Church then, Mrs Robinson?” Jack kissed her once more.

“We shall.” Phryne pulled Jack down onto her, kissing him deeply. He broke the kiss first, running his hand up to her face, before gently sweeping his fingers tenderly up her cheek.

******

The church was teeming with people, even this late at night. Phryne and Jack had wandered through the warren of streets from the enclave occupied by the British Officers and Civil Servants before emerging into Manger Square. There were hawkers selling every kind of souvenir possible, and Jack politely grimaced at all of them in an attempt to dissuade their attentions.  As they ducked through the low doorway into the church building, Jack reflected on how he found himself, here in the Church of the Nativity, on Christmas Eve, pretending to be a recently married man.

~~~~~

Since he had, somewhat against the plan, ran into Phryne in Paris, they had spent every day together. It had been a little over two months now, and they had been all around Europe, before flying on to Northern Africa. As they had been fuelling in Gibraltar, having been delayed there a few days more than expected, Phryne had pulled Jack into the RAF’s Hangar ‘for a small word’.

Her awkwardness had been curiously adorable, as she had explained that local customs in Africa, and thereafter in the Middle East would require more discretion than they had employed so far. ‘Together’ had worked in Europe, and would work again once they got much further East, but they would need a more, elaborate, explanation in the meantime.

Europe had been bracingly freeing. In Europe no-one cared that they weren’t married. In Europe no-one particularly commented that the small plane was being piloted by the woman, rather than the man. In Europe no-one cared that the woman was paying for the hotel rooms, when they stayed in hotels. In Europe the members of the British Aristocracy and Upper Classes they encountered were all in Europe precisely because it wasn’t Britain.

Casablanca, and then Tangiers, had not been too different from Europe. Jack found a strange sort of bohemia there; the indulgences of the West mingling with the customs of the Dark Continent to create a world that Jack was sure could never exist anywhere else. There had been Britons there too; mostly minor aristocrats who were all living obviously homosexual lives; far enough away from prying eyes to be able to do so without the inevitable scandal that would arise if they tried to live their lives freely in England.

Throughout their journey so far Jack had noticed Phryne observing him, and had seemed pleased that he was barely scandalised, and certainly not offended by the many different lifestyles they had witnessed. Perhaps he was more liberal minded than he gave himself credit for? And after a mere two murders so far, he was discovering that people were similar the world over, with the same concerns. More concerns maybe now, he thought, now that the markets were in freefall, and it felt like the whole planet might be going to hell in a hand basket, again.

~~~~~

Phryne’s arm linked through Jack’s as they adjusted their stances having broken apart to enter the ancient building. They both gazed slowly around the space, adjusting their eyes to the dim light, provided by what seemed to be hundreds, possibly thousands, of candles.

“Where’s the Star?” Jack asked, in a whisper.

“In the cellar, effectively. This way Jack,” replied Phryne, as she quickly perused the booklet she had been handed by one of the British Civil Servants shortly after they had arrived earlier that day.

~~~~~

Three days ago they had been in Alexandria, for her birthday, and Jack had kissed her on the banks of the Nile, whilst reciting a particularly erotic portion of Shakespeare sensually into her ear. Mind you, she considered, Jack would probably be able to recite the telephone directory and bring her to her knees. She’d made a mental note to experiment when they reached Melbourne. And that was where she’d plucked up the courage, finally, hesitantly, to say the words that she’d been fleeing from for a decade. And then they’d made love with a passion so intense it had threatened to reduce the pyramids to rubble.

It was going well, she thought. He had been virtually un-shockable so far. He was more modern than he gave himself credit for. It had felt awkward, suggesting that they pretend to be married, for this leg of their adventure, for the sake of convenience. She didn’t want to give him any hope that she might, in reality, be wavering on her commitment to eternal spinsterhood. She definitely wasn’t. But somehow this was fun, pretending to be his wife, taking a step back sometimes, seeing how he might behave if they were. He still deferred to her, especially in matters of dealing with locals, but he was by her side, rather than the one step behind that he had been in Paris, or the several steps he had maintained between them whilst in London and in the presence of her parents. She liked the feeling of them being a team; ‘Mr and Mrs Robinson’, taking on the world as they travelled home.

~~~~~

They wandered slowly down the aisle of the church.

“I never have asked Jack, where you stand on all of, this…” she waved her free hand around generally, indicating the church and its icons.

“God? Hmm. Well I was raised Protestant…”

“Of course. I’m an Anglican too. It’s expected of me.” She said it almost dismissively.

“Did you go to church, when you lived in Collingwood?”

“Yes. Sunday Best and all that. I was always struck by the lack of women in all the stories. It always seemed very focused on men.”

“Were you fighting for the advancement of women even as a child, Miss Fisher?”

She chortled, earning herself disapproving stares from others passing by them. “I always thought it vastly unfair that boys could say they wanted to be almost anything when they grew up, when for the girls, it was always assumed that we had no greater ambition than being wives and mothers. Which is all very well if that’s what you want, of course, but even then I knew that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to see the world, to be a pirate and an adventurer!”

“And you’re doing a superb job of it.” Jack acknowledged, squeezing her arm with his. “We went. Every Sunday. I even went to services on the ship on the way to Anzac Cove, and then again whilst we were being shipped on to France. But even at that point I was turning away from it. And now… How can I possibly believe in a benevolent God after four years in hell? How could a caring God have allowed such suffering to have happened? If God cared at all, he’d have done something to stop it, or never have allowed it to start in the first place. So, not any more, I’m afraid. And I certainly don’t feel inclined to take instructions from men who claim they speak to him frequently about how to live my life. Jesus on the other hand…”

They paused, halting their slow walk. Turning to look at Jack, Phryne raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“I believe that a bloke called Jesus was around at the time; there’s enough historical records that seem to confirm that. As to the rest of it, the miracles and so forth, I’m not so sure, and the resurrection bit, well, I’m not sure about that at all. Perhaps it’s all a metaphor, somehow? But I like his message; love your neighbour; treat others as you would want to be treated; don’t judge others. That I can support.”

“Your job is about judging others Jack.”

“No, my job is to catch killers and other criminals and bring them to justice. And I’m not the judge, I’m just the bloke trying to figure it all out. What do you think?”

“About your job?”

“About all this…” Jack gestured around them as Phryne had done, smiling as he recognised her tactic of trying to avoid the difficult questions.

“As I say, too much focus on the men, for my liking. I think I’m with you Jack. I’ve seen too much suffering and pain. The men, well boys, they rarely called for God, at the end. It was always their wives, or sweethearts, or mothers.” Phryne sighed with the memory of it all. “I’d like there to be something, some answer, some rhyme or reason for it all. Dot believes of course.”

“Of course. As does Collins.” Jack paused as they reached the end of the aisle, finding a small crowd gathering at the entrance to the under-basilica, which contained the alleged birth place of the Messiah.

“Maybe all of us who experienced the war are just too jaded?” Phryne wondered out loud.

“Now ‘jaded’ is not a word I would ever use to describe you, Miss Fisher.”

“I try not to be.”

“Indeed. You’re probably one of the most optimistic people I’ve ever known.” Jack smiled as their turn to move into the cellar came.

“And you Jack, are you an optimist or a pessimist?”

“Hmm. I think I was very pessimistic, for a very long time. But I find myself becoming more optimistic every day.” Jack held out his hand, assisting Phryne down the small, narrow set of stairs.

Despite the chaos above and behind them, Phryne and Jack became aware of how quiet it was, down here in what was really no more than a cave, carved out of the rock. They could see the grotto ahead of them, the altar standing over the Silver Star, inlaid into the floor.  They approached quietly, reaching the edge of the marble floor which marked the place where, it was believed, Jesus had been born. The silver lamps arranged behind the star focused their attention, the tapestries hanging from and around the altar somehow leading their eyes to the spot on the floor.

They both squatted down, considering their places in the world.

“How is it, can you imagine, that one boy was born, and caused, well, all of this?” Phryne, asked, gesturing around her at the ornate marble, clothes and precious metals.

“How does the birth of any one person cause anything so monumental?” Jack asked in reply.

Phryne looked at him and smirked slightly.

“Everyone’s birth is monumental, Phryne, to those people who love them. And no-one ever knows, at the start, how a life will turn out.”

“Well that’s very true. When I was a girl in Collingwood, and you were a boy in Richmond, I don’t suppose either of us would have foreseen where our lives would take us.”

They stood up and moved back up the stairs to the main basilica of the church once more.

“Well yes. I never imagined I’d ever see this.”

They emerged out into the square, teeming still.

“Do you think there’s any chance of a shooting star tonight Jack?” Phryne asked as she offered him her hand.

Jack entwined his fingers around hers, he could feel the band of the ring she was wearing ‘for authenticity’, even through her gloves. Pulling Phryne in front of him, he wrapped his arms around her. His fingers trailed over the outline of the metal, stroking it gently. She would never marry him for real, he knew that. He was trying to reconcile himself to that reality. It had probably been more than he could ever have hoped for when she’d told him that she loved him. And anyway, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about another marriage.

But there was the question of how he could keep his job, and still be with her. He supposed, following the pictures in The Globe, that there probably wasn’t a single person in all of Melbourne who didn’t already think they were involved. And he hadn’t lost his job yet. He was fairly sure the Commissioner knew exactly why he’d negotiated his six months of leave as well.

“What would you wish for if there was?” Jack asked, dipping his head to whisper into Phryne’s ear.

“Hmm” responded Phryne, simultaneously warmed by Jack’s closeness, and chilled by the shivers he was sending down her spine. “I think, as its Christmas, I’d want something big, something huge.”

“Never one for the mundane, Miss Fisher.”

“You know me Jack. This year, I’d want…” she turned, in his arms, slipping her hands from his grasp, transferring them around his waist, inside his jacket as he went. “…you” she finished.

“Phryne…”

“Jack. It’s Christmas. And if I can’t compel your kisses here, when we’re alone, together, and everyone _thinks_ you’re my husband, then when exactly can I?”

“You make an excellent point, _Mrs Robinson_.” Jack pulled her closer to him, pressing his lips to hers. “Merry Christmas _Mrs Robinson._ ”

“Merry Christmas _Mr Robinson.”_

 

 


End file.
